


what's that word again?

by writedeku



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: AKA Problems When Your Native Language Is Not English, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst is a Minimal Ladies and Gents, Author's Poor Spanish, Bilingual Lance (Voltron), Comedy, Cuban Lance (Voltron), Keith is Getting By TM, Korean Keith (Voltron), Lance is competitive, Lance's Native Language is Spanish, Language Mix Ups, M/M, Mutual Pining, Orphan Keith (Voltron), Slight Mentions of Reincarnation, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, bear with me, happiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-12 20:34:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11744679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writedeku/pseuds/writedeku
Summary: “Maybe we met in a past life,” he offers weakly. People mill around them, but they disappear from view as he looks at the man before him.“I wonder if I liked you then,” Keith says, a little too seriously to be joking. He turns about lazily and waves a hand behind him. “If you do beat me on the next test, I’ll let you pick a reward. Nothing too crazy though, Lance McClain. But if I win,” his tone grows sharper. “Then I get it.”





	1. mailboxes

**Author's Note:**

> ohoho i just got the idea of bilingual lance struggling with don't you say this in english or forgetting a very basic word and then this fic just wrote itself 
> 
> based off my own struggles!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance is Rage. Keith is Blank.

Lance will be upfront about this, his native language is not English, and sometimes he suffers for it. While he’ll never regret his heritage; his language is basically his _birthright_ and Lance will love it to the _death_ , it sometimes does get on his nerves. 

Like now. He narrows his eyes at the object in front of him, poking it with one finger and desperately trying to recall what the _fuck_ it is in English, and now he feels like a fool because people are staring at him while he examines it a little too close for comfort. _Es un buzón. Buzón. Buzón._ He hadn’t even planned on realising he didn't know what it was, he’d just been walking down the street after class ended, planning on getting something sickly sweet at the convenience store up ahead, when he’d passed by this…thing, and realised _holy shit what the hell is that?_

“Gah! What the _fuck_ are you?” he scolds, slamming his foot into it and wincing. 

The crowd around him stops and a few give him weird looks.

A voice speaks out. It’s a charming tone, a little on the gruff side if Lance is being objective, but it’s tinged with amusement. 

“Is there a reason you’re kicking a mailbox?” the voice asks, and Lance feels his soul ascend to Heaven as he settles onto the word. Yes. 

“Mailbox!” he screeches, and turns around to grab the voice’s shoulders. “You’re a saint!”

“Me?” the owner of the voice raises one perfectly arched eyebrow and Lance lets go of him as though he’s been scalded. Oh, this is bad. This is very bad. Mailbox Man is _hot_ …except for that mullet. Lance wants to pull on it and finds his hands reaching for it, and snatches it back just as quickly as he’d had the thought. _Oh! It’s not Mailbox Man! It’s Mullet Man! It’s fucking -_

“Oh, you’re the guy in my astrophysics class,” Lance takes a step back and bumps into the mailbox. “You’re the _asshole_ in my astrophysics class!”

“Am I a saint and an asshole, or have you downgraded me now?” Keith fucking Kogane raises his eyebrow again and folds his arms across his chest. 

“Downgraded!” Lance yelps. “Permanently!”

“It’s a good thing I don’t take the opinion of people who spend their free time kicking mailboxes too seriously,” Keith rolls his eyes and steps away, but then Lance is grabbing the back of his jacket and holding him in place. He’s surprisingly light. 

“Do you seriously not know who I am? I’m _Lance_ dude, Lance! The guy who is _always_ one or two marks below you in class. It’s not fair, man.”

Keith turns around and blinks owlishly at him. “I have no idea who you are. I never look at the class rankings.”

Lance is _outraged_ at the blatant disrespect this man is showing him. Even if you were the best, isn’t there some sort of humility in checking the class rankings to ensure that he was still at the top? Was he that overconfident in his abilities?

Keith blinks at him again. “It's just grades.”

It’s _not_ just grades. His mother is counting on him. He left behind everything to be here in this goddamn university only to be stopped in his tracks by some hot as hell douchebag. The fact that he's hot just makes it worse! What the fuck is he even wearing, some leather jacket that’s too fucking short- Lance sticks his tongue out at him. “Vete a freír espárragos.”

“Fry…asparagus?” Keith definitely looks confused now. It’s a good look. He should look confused more often, especially in class. 

“Do you not say that in English?” Lance puts his hand on his hips, spins in a tight circle on his right foot and marches off to the convenience store. Fuck hot boys. 

Not literally. Well. _Not that one._

* * *

“Fucking again!” Lance shrieks and moves to tear up the class ranking sheet, but the teacher's assistant holds it out of reach and _tsks_ at him. Lance would _climb_ him like a fucking pole, but Shiro’s so ripped and tall Lance thinks it’d be like climbing a tree that could toss him farther than he could jump.

“You don’t _have_ to top the class, Lance,” Shiro says instead and smiles at him, a very dad like smile that has Lance pouting and kicking his feet on the floor. “Keith is just…well, we don't know _what_ he does, but he does it well.”

“He cheats,” he swears, at the same time he hears that gruff voice ask if he could look at the list. He whirls around and puts his hands on his hips. “You!”

Keith blinks at him. “What is it this time?”

“Why are you here? You don’t need to check the ranking sheet, you _know_ you’re the fucking top anyway you sack of…asparaguses.”

“Do I resemble asparagus?” Keith asks blandly, taking the list from Shiro and scanning over it. “Oh. I see. I remember you now.”

Lance can feel the steam coming out from his ears and see Shiro smiling placidly at him. “You only remember now? Oh my god.”

“You didn’t know what a mailbox was,” Keith hands the list back to Shiro with a familiarity that is not borne of the classroom. Lance eyes this exchange suspiciously. 

“Mailbox is a difficult word,” he folds his arms across his chest and seats himself on the professor’s desk. “Come back when you know how to say mailbox in Spanish, dickhead.”

Keith blinks at him again. God, is this all this kid does? Is he that emotionless he’s just going to stand there like some damn marble statue, only blinking at him? “You’re Spanish?”

“Cuban. And you?” Lance raises his eyebrows at him. Shiro watches this exchange, putting the list back down and shuffling through another stack of papers on the desk. 

“Half Korean,” Keith slings his bag over his shoulder and starts to walk off. 

“Do you speak Korean?”

“No. I moved to America when I was young.”

“So I’m better than you,” Lance doesn’t chase after him, because he’s not _pathetic._ He’s a strong person who doesn’t care about what Keith has to say. 

Keith stops dead. “My aunt doesn’t speak Korean. My parents are dead. Are you still better than me?”

_Holy shit._

Lance’s mouth drops open as he falls off the desk to the tune of Shiro choking on air. “Oh my god, dude, what the hell? You can’t just say something like that. This was _lighthearted._ Are you-“ he’s not caring for him, no, but what the hell? 

“I’m okay,” Keith shrugs and turns to look at him over his shoulder. His lips quirk up ever so slightly when he sees Lance’s shellshocked expression. “Seriously. I don’t even remember them much.”

Keith turns and walks out of the lecture hall, leaving Lance to stand there and _seethe._ Stupid asshole, making him feel guilty and bad for him. Lance wants to knock him on the head. 

Behind him, there’s a chuckle, and then someone bursts out laughing. It’s Shiro. Ripped Teaching Assistant is clutching a pile of paper and _laughing._ “He likes you,” he says, and Lance rolls his eyes. 

“No way.”

“He so does. I’ve known him for _years.”_

“We’ve been on name basis for two days and I’m exhausted, shut up.”

“I’m just saying,” Shiro puts his hands up and grins at him. “He’s gonna be hanging around you now.”

“Is he some sort of masochist?” he demands, fruitlessly, because Shiro just smiles and gathers up the papers. 

* * *

Huh. Keith looks very different outside of school and it's a very _good_ different, Lance thinks as he eyes him from above a magazine he just grabbed. He’s got more piercings than he wears in class, and oh gosh he’s got _snakebites._ Lance might just spontaneously combust from the sight of Keith with snakebites, holy shit, he’s never been very good with this whole _pining_ thing, you know, except for the fact that he isn’t pining, he’s just appreciating a very attractive man. He likes Keith a lot better when he isn’t talking too.

He thinks his disguise of this…random magazine he has is extremely effective- Lance would not usually be walking around the town at six in the evening, preferring to kick back with Hunk and Pidge and some Netflix, while he tests out new puns on them and see which one gets them to throw pillows at him. So far, the one with the best reaction was _how does NASA organise a party? They planet._ Pidge had kicked him out of the room so he’d climbed in through the window.

Snakebite Keith has yet to notice him. Lance is content to wait here until he’s walked by, but then Keith bumps into someone and upsets a trolley, spilling food onto the streets. Lance visibly facepalms, but decides his flustered expression is worth seeing. 

That is, until the man he’s bumped into starts yelling at him in furious Spanish. It’s funny until it isn’t, watching Keith stammer and stutter his way through everything, raising both his eyebrows when the man sticks out his hand and puts his thumb and his forefinger together. 

Ah, ah, that’s bad. Hmm. Bad. Keith might end up a pudding. Which would also be fun to watch, right?

Lance darts forward before he knows what he’s doing and says, in a rather flustered voice, “¡Santo cielo! La lamento tanto, mi amigo es súper torpe- Keith, discúlpate inmediatamente,” up close, the man is actually rather tall. And terrifying. It’s been a while since he’s seriously had to speak his language, and finds, to his utmost horror, he’s a little _rusty._ He makes plans to go back to Cuba and just, just talk to his neighbour next door for an hour because said neighbour did not speak a lick of English. 

Keith blinks at him blankly. Lance can’t decide if it’s because he’s wondering where he came from, if it’s because he doesn’t understand what he’s saying, or because Keith doesn’t know how to apologise. “Say sorry, dumbass! Lo siento!” 

“L-lo siento,” Keith says, his eyes widening. His face turns slightly red and he coughs a little. So it was saying sorry that he had a problem with, what an idiot. 

Lance slings his arm around his shoulder and smiles painfully at the man. His words speed up until he’s practically saying them without any pauses. “Haha,bueno, ya se disculpó, así que supongo que todos somos amigos desde ahora. ¡Que descances, chao!” and with that rushed tirade of words, he yanks Keith along and the two walk-run their way down the sidewalk until they collapse onto the wall against some pub somewhere when Keith realises he’s still under Lance’s arm and backs out of it. 

The two of them stare at each other. Then, Lance bursts out laughing and punches him lightly in the shoulder. “Dude, I cannot believe just by walking down the street you managed to piss off someone.”

“I had no idea what he was saying,” Keith deadpans and rubs his face in his hands. He’s wearing fingerless gloves, Lance nearly has a heart attack. God bless. Amen. “What was he saying?”

“He called you an asshole and some other unmentionables,” Lance leans back against the wall and laughs once more. “You’re welcome, by the way. I’m your saviour. Your hero. Your-“

“You’ve got to be joking,” Keith lets out a breath that _could_ be interpreted as a laugh and Lance chooses to, because it makes him happy to think he could laugh. 

“Don’t do that to me man,” he whines. “I was going to have a non-eventful night, just buying cheap vodka from a convenience store, but you had to show up.”

“You know, I’ve heard that cheap vodka is the reason why people don’t top their astrophysics classes.”

One heartbeat. Lance stares at a blush that blooms on his face, stark against his pale skin. Oh, my god. This is bad.

“Was that a joke?” he asks, incredulous. 

Keith scuffs his feet on the floor and looks away. 

“Oh my god, it _was_ a joke. I didn’t know you could make any, but okay,” Lance might be a little agape, but he wants to believe he's being totally suave and cool right now. “The real reason why I don't top my astrophysics class is that there is always some…minor detail or minute thing I miss. Costs me one mark, two marks, what is it when you get 96 out of a 100, it's still an A, right? But _you._ 97\. 98. It drives me insane.”

Keith looks up at the sky, the darkening air turning cold around them. Lance’s eyes slide from his eyes to the slant of his jaw, the peak of his nose, the curve of his chin, and watches with rapt fascination the way those lips look when they curve into a smile, one that curls its way across his features and turns his eyes squinty at the corner. 

Oh, this is bad. 

“Would you like me to help you?” Keith asks, and his very tone itself is daring, a challenge inherent in the positive and polite way he phrases his words. Lance bristles. 

“I do _not_ need your help.”

“Hmm?” Keith lets his head loll about on his neck and gives Lance such a look it has him frantically thinking thoughts of the time he chanced his grandfather in the shower. “Are you sure?”

“If I beat you with your help, it won’t feel like I've beaten you at all,” he says, a little morosely. Keith smiles again. 

“That’s your problem.”

“It is,” Lance pushes off the wall and grins cheekily at him. “Hey, will you give me a reward if I beat you in the next test?”

“A reward?”

“Course,” he says dramatically. “You know, for like, motivation.”

Keith smiles a little bemusedly. “I don’t even know you.”

“I’m Lance McClain, I’m a Leo, bisexual and _cool_ , my favourite colour’s blue, favourite time of the day is right now, and I love my mother’s papa rellena,” he says seriously, and Keith continues with that too soft smile that doesn’t match his piercings. “There. You know everything important about me.”

Keith shrugs his shoulders. “Are you a pessimist? Do you think plain water tastes boring? Are you a sneakers or a sports shoe kind of person? Do you like cold weather? Vertical stripes or horizontal stripes? What you just said doesn’t add to your character at all. They’re just things.”

Lance gapes at him. “You know, I know nothing about you too.”

They look at each other. 

“I’m an open book, McClain.”

“You’re an _emo_ one.”

He rolls his shoulders and pushes off the wall too. “So?”

“If you want to have a bonding moment, I’m cancelling it,” Lance takes a step back from him and nearly trips over the edge of the sidewalk. 

Keith is just about an inch or so shorter than him, but he cuts an imposing figure when he steps up to Lance and looks him in the eye. He blinks, and sees another Keith looking at him like this, determination and intimidation all at once, but his eyes are just a little darker, and fuzzier, his hands curled into fists at his sides, but when he shakes his head it’s gone again. 

Keith taps his finger to his chin and gives him a once over. “I feel like I’ve known you for a long time.”

“You have. Like, two years of it, but thanks for remembering," Lance shrinks beneath his gaze. 

“No,” Keith closes his eyes and shakes his head, stepping back from him. “I feel like I’ve known you much longer than that.”

“Maybe we met in a past life,” he offers weakly. People mill around them, but they disappear from view as he looks at the man before him. 

“I wonder if I liked you then,” Keith says, a little too seriously to be joking. He turns about lazily and waves a hand behind him. “If you do beat me on the next test, I’ll let you pick a reward. Nothing too crazy though, Lance McClain. But if I win,” his tone grows sharper. “Then I get it.”

“You won’t!” he shouts after him, a little breathless, but Keith doesn’t acknowledge it. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spanish translations:
> 
> 1\. it is a mailbox. mailbox. mailbox.  
> 2\. go fry asparagus (a phrase used to basically mean, fuck off)  
> 3\. oh my god i'm so sorry my friend is extremely clumsy- keith, apologise right now.  
> 4\. sorry.  
> 5\. sorry.  
> 6\. well he's said he's sorry so i guess this makes us friends have a great night bye!
> 
> thanks for reading!!


	2. of garlic knots and late night run ins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith is pining. Lance is too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yoo second chapter is HERE can i get a hell yeah for mutual pining?

“Lance. Lance. Lance,” Hunk says, tapping him repeatedly on the shoulder. “You need to take a break. I get you have this, weird rivalry going on, but if you don’t take a break, you’re not going to absorb anything, and you’ll bomb. Like, actually bomb. Dead. Never look Keith in the eye again type dead. Broken. Gon-“

Lance gives a loud, exaggerated sigh that stops Hunk’s rant in his tracks. “But I _have_ to beat him, he said I’d get a reward.”

“That’s like, super gay,” Hunk folds his arms across his chest and stares him down. “Are you sure he’s not into you?”

“Positive.”

“Are you _sure?”_

“Slightly less sure now that you’ve brought up how gay it is,” Lance rubs his hands over his face and sighs. “Fine. I’ll follow you to the supermarket.”

“You're thinking Keith might be wandering the aisles at eleven at night?” Hunk raises his eyebrows and shakes his head as he shrugs on his coat. “Man, you could both get full marks if you’d just tutor each other, not fight.”

“You’re the one making me go to the supermarket an hour before midnight,” Lance grouches, winding a scarf around his neck and snatching up his glasses. In Cuba, it is never cold. Well, okay, it is chilly, a little mild cold that just nips about you, but here cold meant cold and Lance froze whenever he stepped out the door, even in early autumn. 

“I love twenty-four hour supermarkets. They fill me with a sense of peace and security,” Hunk claps his hands together excitedly, and Lance cracks a small smile.

* * *

Keith’s eyes fall morosely onto a gap in the shelf, where, had he maybe been a couple of hours early, they might still have stock of his favourite cereal. Cursing his late night cravings, he folds his arms across his chest and mopes in the aisle, grumbling about having to buy store brand and _generic_ and-

“Oh. Are we out?” a voice asks behind him. The sudden closeness of the voice startles Keith and he jumps about a foot in the air and swears in colourful variations of the word _fuck._

“Dammit, Lance, stop sneaking up on me, it’s bad for my health,” Keith shoots him a painful look, and promptly forgets how to breathe, because there is a very cute boy mere inches away from his face, wide-eyed and laughing. 

“Oh, you looked terrified,” Lance wipes away an imaginary tear and grins at him. “Worth. So worth.” 

This is not the Lance Keith knows from school, this is a Lance with atrocious bedhead and a blue scarf winding across his neck. He’s got a splash of freckles across his nose and high up along his cheeks, made all the more obvious by a pair of light black glasses he is wearing. Lance wears glasses. Who knew? Who fucking knew. Keith feels his mouth dry up as he promptly resumes his blank expression. 

“What are you doing here?” Keith sighs and rocks back on his heels, giving Lance a crude once over again. “How’s studying?”

“Just fine, thank you,” Lance sneers and then sighs, almost as though he's had a change of heart, or maybe he's just tired. “Ah, whatever. It’s going okay. There are still some parts I don’t understand, but what to do?”

Keith nods and looks down at the floor, away from the blinding light that is Lance McClain, even though sleep deprived and looking like he’s running on Redbull and determination, he's still overwhelmingly...there. “I see. I don't understand a few parts too. I’m meeting the professor for help tomorrow. If you want…you can join in.”

Lance takes a step back and puts his hand very delicately over his heart. “I’m sorry, you would…offer me, your rival, me, Lancey Lance, your assistance in such a pressing and competitive time?”

Keith blinks at him. _Lancey Lance. What an adorable idiot._ Keith feels like he should’ve noticed him sooner, but between the studying and the _oh my god so many loud people_ he really couldn’t care less about his classmates. Not to mention that one older student in the back who asked an _obscene_ amount of questions, such that even the professor requested for him to see him after class. 

“It’s not my assistance,” Keith mutters, scuffing the floor with his boot. “I don't really want to fight with you. It’s tiring. I am all about not being tired.”

Now it is Lance’s turn to blink at him. “We’ve only been actually fighting for like, three weeks now. I spent three years fighting you in _silence.”_

“Did you not tire of it?”

“I did not!”

“You are exhausting,” Keith informs him. “Actually exhausting. Just by standing in your presence I am exhausted.”

Lance folds his arms across his chest and glares at him. “I got that the first time you said exhausting, asswipe.”

_Asswipe._ It’s getting too cute for Keith now. He’s got to maintain his composure, though, he has a reputation to maintain. 

“Besides, I want that reward,” Lance shrugs. “I’ll join you tomorrow.” 

“Thanks. I might need back up,” Keith thinks of his professor and shudders. “I actually don’t want to be in a room alone with that man.”

“Ah, Coran’s not such a bad person, he's just a little crazy,” Lance points at himself and grins, the smile causing Keith to again shrink away. “Aren’t all the best people?”

* * *

Lance is quiet when he studies, Keith observes, watching him take meticulous notes that are still a little jumbled and hard to read if you’re not Lance. Some of the phrases, such as basic ones Keith recognises to be _important, pay attention and LOOK OUT_ are written in a bright red pen and in Spanish, which makes him chuckle a little, but only in his mind. 

Keith likes this. It is peaceful next to Lance when he is quiet, even with Coran jabbering on about something _wild_ that probably won’t come out on the final anyway. The issue with having Coran as a professor isn’t not being taught well, it’s sifting through the shitloads of information he gives to find the important ones. 

Lance’s knee bumps his and Keith looks down sharply to see a note written on his pad. It says, in that slanted way he writes, _you seem distracted._

Keith startles and flushes red, dropping his pencil in his hand and looking away from him in a rush. Lance watches him out of the corner of his eyes, then writes down again _what's up? :-)_

He adds _noses_ to his smiley faces. That is _adorable._ Keith regrets ever getting to know this flurry of a human because since when's this ever been adorable? 

_I’m fine, don't distract yourself._

_but keeeith you're never distracted whassup_

_I probably didn’t sleep enough last night._

_lmao sounds like a you problem. hey give me your phone number._

_Why?_

_because i want it, asshole._

_Wow. Rude._

_ok ill give you mine first as a gesture of solidarity and peace. i’m getting pretty tired of fighting with you._

_You are?_

_you're actually pretty chill and i hate that, so fuck you for turning out to be a decent guy._

_Thanks? :D_

_dont smiley me it doesn't fit your character image_

_It's for the gap moe._

Lance’s hand tenses around his pen and a short laugh is ripped from him. It’s the first time Keith has heard him laugh so genuinely, and it makes him happy. Lance seems like the kind of person that laughs at everything, from the funny to the not to the questionable, but Keith sometimes feels a little off during their encounters, as though Lance is a little too used to being overlooked, and has to make himself as loud as possible to compensate. 

“You’re absolutely right! This chapter is _hilarious_ in nature,” Coran swings by to pat Lance’s head before taking off again. Keith can’t decide if he’s being sarcastic or truthful, so he nods along anyway. 

Lance’s knee knocks back into his, where on his pad a phone number is now written. _Text me,_ Lance mouths at him, and when he moves his knee back- Keith’s follows, such that they knock into each other again. They exchange stares. 

Lance does not move away. 

Keith draws a little doodle of a man in his margins with his arms up and the words victory above his head and grins like an idiot on the inside. He resists the urge to slam his head on the table at how pathetic he’s being.

* * *

“You are awfully happy today, considering it’s an eight am class,” Shiro leans against the hall door and raises his eyebrows at him. Keith blushes and looks away. “Does it have anything to do with the boy who has suddenly changed seats?”

“Lance changed seats?” Keith raises an eyebrow and makes as if to step into the theatre, but it’s blocked by Shiro’s frankly massive body. Keith nearly slams into a pec. “He didn’t say anything about that last night.” 

“You know how your frankly blank and scary face has given you a one seat berth on either side of you?” Shiro grins at him. “One of those seats is taken by a brown haired boy who I _think_ goes by the name of Lance McClain, who you swore just two days ago didn’t like you.”

“He doesn’t. I’m his rival,” Keith can’t keep his composure around Shiro, it never works out for childhood friends. “Or, so he says.”

“Well, your rival just sat in the seat next to you and _owned_ it,” Shiro steps aside and lets him pass into the hall. When he steps in, he sees that shock of a bedhead and oh, so he’s wearing his glasses today, _great,_ another thing to distract him from the lesson at hand. 

Lance looks up at the door and sees him, and oh gosh he bursts into a wide toothed smile that has Keith blushing and kicking the ground, looking to Shiro for help. Shiro just smiles at him. 

Keith is forced to walk into there alone and sit down next to the bright boy, who waves and says, “morning, Edgelord.”

“Edgelord?”

“It’s your new contact name. I can’t believe you like My Chemical Romance. They’re, like, for tweens, and don’t even get me started on that phone call last night. Really? You got snakebites to piss off your teacher?” Lance rolls his eyes and sticks his tongue out at him. 

Keith doesn’t know what to say in reply, he just gapes at him. “I told you those in confidence you wouldn’t use them against me,” he pouts and turns back to his notepad. 

Lance beams at him. “Well, I am going to use it against you anyway.”

“You’re back on my rival list.”

Lance gasps and puts a hand to his heart. “That’s mean of you. Here,” he slides something wrapped in tissue over to Keith, who stares at it. “I guessed you’re not the kind to eat breakfast, so when I warmed up some garlic knots for me I thought I'd give some to you too. I made them, y’know. Mother’s recipe and everything.”

Keith reaches out trembling hands to hold it and realises that it’s still warm. Now he’s tearing up and sniffling, putting it back down and hiding his face in his hands. Oh _nooo._

“Hey! What’s wrong? Do you not like garlic knots? Are you like, a vampire?” Lance says in alarm, reaching over to hold his shoulder. “I guess being a vampire would explain unironically saying that you like My Chemical Romance in 2017. Oi! Keith!”

“N-no,” Keith waves his hand about aimlessly and forces his tears to stop through sheer force of will. “No one’s ever made me stuff like this. Thanks.”

Lance stares at him for so long it starts to get uncomfortable. Then, “so you mean your blank stares and blinking were just because you've never learnt how to properly process emotion and like, feelings of love?”

Keith pauses with the knot halfway to his mouth. “I was homeschooled most my life, and we lived in like, the middle of nowhere in Arizona, so yeah. I guess.” 

“That’s so sad,” Lance muses. “Here. Tomorrow, we have class just before lunch. So after, why don’t you come over, and I’ll make you some papa rellena? It’s like, stuffed potatoes, but better than that.” 

“You’d make _me_ a meal?”

“Course,” Lance rubs the back of his head and sighs. “Turns out, you’re actually just a sad little lost guy. Like, I seriously can’t hate you anymore.”

“So is the competition-“

“The competition is still on!” Lance barks too loudly, and causes the people in room to look at him. He flushes and awkwardly sinks back into his seat. “It’s still on.”

“Okay,” Keith blinks, and tears into the knots. They’re really good. 

* * *

The test itself comes and goes with a little less drama than Keith would’ve liked. Everything he studied was on the test, though there were some shady things Keith doesn’t want to think about, and now he’s sitting on a park bench with Lance. He’s holding a vanilla ice cream in his hands, watching it slowly melt and he races to lick up the ones that are running down his cone. It’s coloured, this one, the guy called it a superman, but really, what does he know? He never comes to places like this on his own. 

Lance is eating some green abomination he calls mint chocolate, but it looks like the Grinch puked into an pile of snow and it just froze over. Tactfully, he refrains from commenting on it, just stares at his rapidly melting unicorn shit and focuses on the feel of Lance’s leg pressing into his. 

“We should be getting our results by email soon,” Keith mentions casually, frowning at his ice cream before taking a bite out of it. “You scared?”

“As if,” Lance scoffs and leans on him, throwing his arms out to the sky. “I have studied my _ass_ off for this test. If I lose to you I'm going to chalk it down to divine interference and just stop it there.”

“Divine interference,” Keith repeats, laughing slightly. “Sure.”

“It has to be,” Lance whines and kicks at a stone that in front of him. “God hates me. Officially.”

“I don’t think meeting me was so bad,” Keith takes another bite. “Was it?”

“Yes, it was. Well, at least, for the years were you kept beating me in silence,” Lance sticks his tongue out at him. “Y’know, I had my friend Pidge run this background check on you, and like, I did not know your disciplinary record was so bad but you best be careful or you’re gonna be kindly asked to drop out.”

Keith stares at him. “You know my disciplinary record?” 

“I also know your time of birth. Pidge is terrifying,” Lance tilts his head at him. “You know, our horoscopes are very compatible.” 

“You shut up,” Keith warns. “Don’t go looking into my history.”

“Sure, mister told a professor to stop being such a little bitch when she called you out over a typo,” Lance laughs and cries out when Keith lunges for his ice cream. 

“Fuck you. That professor was a homophobic piece of shit,” Keith shoves his shoulder and sighs. “I wrote my essay on homophobia and the typo she called out was my entire essay.”

“So, what, you’re like a defender of justice now? A vigilante,” Lance’s eyes open wide and he laughs. “You should’ve just gone to the Dean. Honestly. You’re so rash, you're lucky I’m here, because lately I’ve noticed I make up like, at least seventy five percent of your impulse control.”

“You do not.”

“Yes I do, remember when you wanted to buy that fake Daniel Wellington watch for like, two hundred dollars?”

“It wasn’t fake!”

“It so was! It had _made in china_ stamped on the back and the logo was different!” Lance throws his head back and cackles. “You’re such an _idiot,_ how have you survived?”

“Poorly,” Keith answers honestly, and as Lance moves to nod, both their phones ring. 

They stare at each other. 

Keith grabs his phone out of his pocket and types with sticky fingers his password as fast as he can, but Lance gets there first. 

Keith stares at his face. One heartbeat. Two. 

A bird chirps in the distance. Someone yells _fuck you_ in the vague direction of the entrance. 

Lance turns to him, blank faced. “Congratulations,” he says, monotone. Keith can’t decide if he’s happy or sad. 

“I won?”

Lance stony-faced is actually quite scary. Keith shrinks away from his gaze and so nearly misses the time when Lance’s entire face bursts into light and a grin presses itself so firmly to his features he cannot let it go. 

Keith’s heart stops at the sheer beauty of it all. 

“No, you didn’t. Congratulations on _losing_ sucker!” Lance cackles and throws himself off the bench, whooping. Keith watches him go, smiling in spite of himself. To think this all started because a beautiful boy didn't know how to say mailbox in English. 

“So what do you want?”

“Huh?” 

“You get a reward," Keith says patiently. “So what do you want?”

Lance stares at him, and then a deep blush bursts out across his features that is just _so_ appealing Keith can’t stand it. He wants this boy’s hands on him, running through his hair, holding his face. He spent sleepless nights daydreaming about behind him, holding him tight, of what it’d feel like to press kisses to the freckles on his face. Do the freckles continue on his shoulders? Keith doesn’t know. He wants to know, because now he knows that Lance is an optimist, that he likes plain water, that he thinks using athletic wear as fashion is for losers. He’s always cold yet still drinks iced teas, that he’s a horizontal stripes kind of person, that he enjoys warm hugs and that above his bed in his dorm, he has pasted glow in the dark stars that sometimes fall down and hit him in the face. 

It’s overwhelming. Keith wishes he’d won so that he could use it to ask Lance on a date. 

“It's nothing much,” Lance waves a hand about. “You can forget it.”

“Lance,” Keith says, reproachfully. 

Lance blushes again. 

_Wait._ Keith’s been an idiot. He doesn’t need some stupid reward to ask Lance on a date. He can just- he can always just, “Lance _willyougoonadatewithme?”_ he coughs. Shakes his head. “Before you say anything, will you go…on a date with me? You can save your reward for later.”

If it's possible, Lance turns an even darker shade of red. Keith blinks, then flushes too. “N-not that kind of reward! Ahh, just- will you-" he’s certain his expression is one of pure pain and agony. He’s emotionally stunted, okay. “Will you go out with me?”

Lance blinks. “Okay.”

“O-okay?” Keith blinks back at him. “Good. Yes. Good.”

“Good,” Lance echoes. They continue staring. 

Keith reaffirms his decision to die early, but then Lance says, “I wonder if you taste like vanilla,” and Keith only has time to say, “what?” before Lance has crossed the distance between them and leaned down to kiss him. 

Keith panics. He _knew_ he should’ve taken those mints, how long ago as he brushed his teeth? Lance tastes vaguely like a toothpaste he thinks he should know, maybe from the ice cream? Ahh, his lips are chapped. They’re rough. They don’t feel too bad, actually, Lance knows what the hell he’s doing. 

Keith jerks away from him and Lance pouts. “You did taste like vanilla.”

“You- you-" Keith stutters, and then smacks him on the shoulder. “You made me drop my ice cream.”

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Lance lowers himself onto his lap and taps his chin. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“You’ll buy me a new one?”

Lance frowns at him. “I’m trying to be sexy here.”

“Yeah,” Keith grins cockily at him. “It’s not working. You dropped my ice cream.”

Lance's frown deepens, and then he sighs. “You're insufferable. _Insufferable._ Why do I even think I enjoy your presence?”

“I am a joy to be around,” Keith deadpans. 

“Sure.”

“I mean it.”

“No, yeah, go ahead, keep telling yourself that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for reading! leave a comment or a kudos if you liked it!! thanks!!


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